


dominatable focus

by NilBastardoCarborundum



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4522350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NilBastardoCarborundum/pseuds/NilBastardoCarborundum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan discovers her attraction to Josephine; unfortunately for everyone, she is already involved with Solas.<br/>Rated for future chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dominatable focus

“Another time, Inquisitor.”

A shiver ran up her spine. 

“Lady Montiliyet.” 

The door to Josephine’s office closed behind her. She could feel herself about to lean back on it and sigh; she only barely avoided it. She looked across the main hall. She could see the door to Solas’ study standing ajar. She’d been there, what? Ten minutes ago? Less? Confident and happy like you ought to be in the arms of your teacher-come-lover. She cringed. She tried to forget the phrase “teacher-come-lover.”

Find the ground again. Think of his stories, his passion, his kisses growing stronger with time. Remember? Let’s see some of that indominatable focus. 

She hadn’t really given Josephine a thought. Ambassador was a hard enough job. There was no reason for her to take Josephine’s personal time. And she hadn’t considered that a woman who cared so much about political nothings could interesting at all. 

But: today. Today there had been nothing for an Inquisitor to do. She was waiting for Harding to send word from Emprise du Lion; there was no point in leaving Skyhold just to ship out again in a few days. She had been on her way to the War Table when she remembered Josephine.  
Always like an afterthought, Josephine. Lavellan’s intentions were entirely honorable. There was no way for her to know that asking a—what? A coworker at best? A relative stranger. Asking a relative stranger about their personal life could throw her into a tempest. Her head was filled with the Antivan sea, she was drowning in aged Antivan wines. She felt sunbaked. 

Irrational, this was completely irrational. Lavellan abandoned ideas of the War Table and went straight to bed. She thought of nothing on her way there. She didn’t think of bright eyes and beauty marks on her way up the hall, and she certainly did not think of dark skin and soft hands and that hair—that hair—as she made the climb to her chambers.  
Solas, for one thing. Perfect Solas. She sat on the foot of her bed. They were both Elven, which was almost all she needed. She had been butting heads with practically everyone because of the thrice-cursed cultural barrier. They each seemed to negate all of her opinions with, “dear, sweet Lavellan, this is because you’re Dalish.” 

Solas was so easier to talk to. Though he wasn’t necessarily Dalish, apparently. Even as he sensed elven artifacts and protected elven lore and spoke of elven, elven, elven things, he seemed to think that he was apart and above it all. And she could swear that she had seen him looking at her vallaslin like it was some kind of phallic birthmark. She had a suspicion that he would like her to call him “hahren.”

Something woke up in the back of her mind and slithered forward. “Josephine asked you what it is like to be Dalish,” it said. She jumped. When? “At Haven.” She remembered. Josephine wanted to learn, where everyone else thought they already knew. What a simple thing to miss.

Lavellan fell back onto the bed. She rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in the sheets. She willed herself to think of nothing. Except for what she was allowed to think about. She could think about… troops? Cullen would like that. She could think about any of the multiple parties that would like to kill her. That might spoil the mood. For all the Creators, she could think about the blasted Shards if it would keep her from envisioning her hands slipping over all that golden silk.

The bed shifted. Please be Cole. 

“Vehnan?”

Dread Wolf take him.

“Hmm?”

“Are you..? In the hall, I caught sight of you. You seem upset,” he said.

She wanted to look at him. She wanted to see his eyes and remember that she loved her crotchety hahren. But she couldn’t be sure what he would see. She turned her face to the wall.

“It’s just the fate of Thedas looming,” she said. “I’m in the midst of dispelling it, not to worry.”

He chuckled. She hated the word. She’d always hated it. Chuckle. But Varric was right, there was no better way to put it. 

He ran his hands up her back, “You need a distraction.”

She did. She swallowed hard. She looked at him.

She smiled. “I always need a distraction.”

He hummed. 

He rubbed her back with purpose now. He applied gentle pressure up and down her spine and a few vertebrae popped gloriously. She exhaled roughly, and she could feel his smile. His hands moved under the bottom of her shirt and he hesitated. She nodded. He removed her shirt and began to work her shoulder blades. Soon she took off her breast band. He moved to cup her breast but she swatted him away.

“You’re not done here,” she said, wiggling her spine.

He laughed. Not a chuckle, a laugh. She smiled into the sheets. 

He squeezed every drop of tension out of her. He always did. He ran his hands into her hair and applied delicious pressure to her temples. The bed dipped further and she felt two knees on either side of her waist. More pressure to her spine and her shoulders and her sides. She groaned. He shifted himself down and kissed the nape of her neck. He winded his way down her spine, still working his hands on her ribs and her sides and her hips and, finally, her ass.

He gave her trousers a tug and waited. “Please,” she said. Off they went.

He gave her hipbone and open-mouthed kiss and flipped her over. He looked. Finally his eyes found hers. “You are so beautiful, vhenan.”

She felt the smile die halfway to her face. She tried to force it all the way there. She could feel her face hardening.

He frowned. He climbed up to kiss her and paused. She watched him search her. He settled on moving to lie next to her, a hand on her stomach.

“Dirth ma, vehnan,” he said.

Tell him? What was there to tell him? She didn’t know what to tell herself. She’d never lied to him before. Not really lied. She couldn’t find her words. A long silence passed.

He sighed. “There is a great weight on you. Outside of this room, you must bear that weight bravely. You know that I understand this. But in here,” he ran his hands down her rib, “You are only a woman.”

She exhaled. She didn’t want to think about this anymore. She wanted to go to sleep. She turned and kissed him. He broke it.

“You must tell me what is troubling you,” he said.

“Oh? I must?”

“I cannot help you if you do not—“

She looked around the room. “Did someone in here ask for help? I was just here, processing my own feelings. You must have heard some other damsel weeping for her big, strong—“ 

He sat up and looked down at her. “I thought that this is what this arrangement was for. Support.”

“Support. Not describing every feeling in gory detail.”

“Excuse me if I am confused, but I thought that this is what you wanted. I was willing to participate in this arrangement—“

She sat up. “Call me an ‘arrangement’ one more time.” 

He took a breath. 

“Vehnan,” he said. “You’re being childish.”

The phrase “teacher-come-lover” helpfully replaced itself in her mind. She laughed.

He got off the bed and made to leave.

She shouted after him. “You know, you can keep a few of those lectures in your back pocket. Save them for someone else, or write some kind of book, or do whatever you think is best with all that invaluable knowledge, o Hahren.”

He slammed the door.


End file.
